The Rose of Xing
by mebh
Summary: Madame Christmas gets more than she bargained for when Roy steps in to replace one of her most highly anticipated acts. Involuntary crossdressing!roy. Challenge fic with a few ffn writers on the theme of revenge.


Hello all!

This is part of a challenge with disastergirl, thousandsunnylyon, megamize, sammyquill and whoever else wants to join the fun!

Themes were a) bell and b) revenge. And I totally adhere to them... **cringes**

Couple of things...

1 - This is set in the Madame Christmas world seen in my other fic The Rascal Boy. So some characters will be familiar.

2 - I have **every** intention of continuing with HDWL. I moved continents and have had way too many distractions. Apologies.

3 - No beta so I'll be checking in often to spot the inevitable typos. If you spot any - let me know! ^^*

Anyway – I do hope you enjoy and check out the other fics!

Ps – I far exceeded the word limit. Soweeeee! Xx

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><p>"This is a disaster, Madame!" Polly squealed, leaning over her boss' shoulder as the large woman regarded the telegram. Another of the girls sat with her arms flung out in front of her, weeping into the crook of her elbow.<p>

Madame Christmas didn't speak, but pulled - agitated - at one gaudy earring.

Emilia sat to her right, fingernails tapping on the dark table top. "We should have known better. I thought the price was too good to be true. That kind of girl doesn't come cheap. 'Time restraints' indeed."

"We did know better," Chris said through a sigh. She turned the telegram over then back again. "Our fixer confirmed their location at the Western Interface yesterday morning. That's more than enough time to make it here. They've had a better offer on the way - guaranteed. I bet it's that bloody Dara Bunton in Suwon City again. Swine."

"What are we going to do?" Anna groaned, palms pressed to her pretty face.

Polly ducked so she could meet the Madame's eyes. "The house is fully booked. There'll be outrage! The whole damn city was clawing to see Xiaoxiao!"

"Not to mention the extra food we ordered. Archie Knipe will never take back all that steak. And the truffles..." Emilia spoke with a roll of her eyes. "I hope you told Jimmy at the accountant's to lay of the gin, Madame. He's going to have a busy month-end."

Georgie, who until that moment had been sitting silently panicking, jumped to her feet with a yelp, russet curls bobbing. "The Tribune are sending one of their people. We were going to be on the front page of the social section!"

Emilia huffed. "Don't be glum, kid, now we might make the front page of the whole poxy newspaper: 'Brothel loses Rose of Xing; proprietor hung, drawn and quartered.'"

"Thank you, Emilia."

"Not a problem, Madame."

There was a bothered huff and a rustle of paper.

"Ladies..."

Twelve fierce eyes, ringed with kohl and weighted with false lashes, turned towards the owner of that particularly smug voice. Roy, who was lounging cat-like on the chaise longue – alchemy text in hand – remained blissfully unaware of their ire. He pretended to be at least.

"Please calm yourselves. I really don't see what the big deal is. Wasn't she just going to sit on her ass while our girls did all the work anyway?"

Polly's mouth popped open.

Roy set his book aside and offered a benign smile to his 'sisters' as he stood. He made his way over to them and resting a hand on his aunt's shoulder, studied the Xingese beauty's picture.

"Besides," he shrugged. "She looks sort of boyish to me."

Twelve eyes lit up. They turned to the Madame for her approval.

Christmas fingered the telegram and smiled without facing her adopted son. "Roy, child."

"Huh?"

"I recommend that you learn when to keep your trap shut. Girls, I think we're all on the same page."

"Page?"

Christmas pushed her chair back and stood to face her fifteen-year-old. She pinched his cheek, pleased beyond reason by the confusion in his eyes.

"Just remember, I love you very much."

"Ma-"

Emilia waited until the Madame exited before she turned ravenous eyes on the boy. He stepped back.

"Wha-"

"Get him!"

* * *

><p>Roy belched loudly as Emilia tightened the corset once more, her foot on the small of his back and her vice-like hand on his shoulder.<p>

"Please I-" another burp interrupted him as Emilia pulled again.

He was restrained – impossibly – by his entire gaggle of sisters. Two held each of his arms while another had wrapped herself around his calves, only letting go draw the all-too-sharp razor along the scrawny length of his legs. The others prowled around the dressing room, sharp eyes watching his every frown and huff. Even the doormen were 'in on it' stationed as they were at the door, goading him.

"Come on Mustang! It's not like you'll miss the leg hair. It only came in 3 weeks ago."

"Maybe you can glue the shavings onto that pretty face of yours!"

They roared with laughter, wiping tears from their eyes with the backs of their apish hands.

He hated them; with their broad shoulders, beards and lack of vicious, mentally unstable sisters.

He turned his head as much as was possible to plead with Emilia. "Emmy – please, please don't do this to me. I promise I'll be less of an asshole."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Roy-boy."

Roy sobbed without feeling and hung his head, catching sight of his – as yet – undecorated hands.

"My hands!" he shouted. "What about my hands! I have boy hands! Everyone will notice and you'll all be lynched – ha!"

"The sleeves of your dress are 4 feet long. Your inarguably manly hands are not a concern of ours."

He turned his eyes to Polly who was combing a silky black wig. She winked at him and reached back for an ornate lotus flower. She pinned it to the wig with incongruous venom.

"Damn floozy."

"That's what they pay me for, Roy-boy," she answered, resuming her task of combing his wig.

His glare was blocked as Anna crouched in front of him, putting the finishing touches to his extravagant make-up with a sultry wash of red on his puckered lips. Georgie manoeuvred herself out of the way and washed the last of the shaving soap from his newly smooth legs. She pulled up his creamy white stockings and fastened them to the lacy garters adorning his thighs. Getting those on had been nothing short of catastrophic. Oh, how he wished he could forget _that_ chapter in this terrible saga.

"Girls!" Anna screamed, wiping her hands clean. "Look at him! He looks like a doll! Like. A. Doll!"

Her breasts jiggled as she clapped excitedly at the sight of his painted face.

"Tits!" Roy shouted. "I don't have tits. A showgirl's got to have tits!"

Emilia tied off the corset and leant over Roy's shoulder to speak to Rosie.

"Rosie love, did you remember to fetch the chicken breasts from the freezer in the yard?"

Rosie grinned and held aloft two healthy looking slabs of flesh.

"Tramp," Roy spat, moments before he was turned on his head and wrestled into his dress.

* * *

><p>He realised with a dull sort of disappointment that he couldn't escape even if he wanted to. Those harpies he called sisters had so tightly wound his growing feet into the platform slippers that he couldn't even wriggle his toes, never mind make a break for it.<p>

Besides, where was he going to run to? Into the bustling streets of Central where punters had already started gathering for his involuntary debut? No chance. This was it. At fifteen, he had been transformed from hopeful alchemy student into teenage cross-dressing concubine.

His life as he knew it was over.

"Oh my," Anna said, her hand covering her mouth.

"I've never seen anything like it," Georgie echoed.

They had put him on the chaise longue where his alchemy text still lay, and were now gathered in front of him; a wall of admiring, _awed_ eyes. Even the doormen had gone quiet.

Madame Christmas swept into the room and stopped dead. He had never, ever seen as much emotion on the woman's face as he did now. He thought, with horror, that she might actually well up.

"Emilia. Fetch a mirror."

The supervisor did as she was told, returning with a full length mirror. The crowd moved forward as one and fell into a gulf of hushed wonder when the mirror was placed in front of Roy.

He refused to look at first, but the press of quiet anticipation cast a rope about his gaze and pulled it – inevitably – toward his image in the glass.

His heart stumbled.

Melancholy eyes – black as night – cast a million mile stare from between luscious lashes. White skin, paler than bone, shone unblemished in the lights of the lounge and above thick, shapely eyebrows, there in the middle of his forehead, was an inked red rose. His lips – fuller than he had ever considered – were bright red petals, turned down in a something-pout and his cheeks were washed with vivid pink powder. The wig had been swept into an abundant roll and pinned with a lotus flower while nestled on the crown of his head was the most ornate head dress he had ever seen. Gold plated, bejewelled and hung with a thousand bells.

He cocked his head and watched his reflection do the same. The bells sang merrily and the jewels pecked at the light. His hand skittered to his face, trembling fingers tracing the line of his jaw. His eyes stung and his throat bobbed.

Suddenly, awfully, there like a thunderbolt, was the image of his mother.

He saw a fat tear roll down the other-Roy's cheek. Then another. He sobbed and turned his face from the mirror.

The girls were on him in an instant.

* * *

><p>The room was packed. More than packed. It was almost certainly illegal to crush so many people into one small bordello, but how could Chris say 'no' to this kind of attention?<p>

Saying that, she did try to call it off – seeing Roy upset, but the boy refused. It could be the death of the establishment, he had said. And though she didn't agree with him out loud, she reflected it really could have been. Still though, she had never met one as contrary as her own Roy. He'd spent the whole day fighting to get out of the fiasco only to refuse her offer when she finally relented.

She loved him dearly for it; his weird, unchartable manner.

She grinned to herself and took a sip of her brandy.

A round of applause broke her from her reverie as the girls finished off their boisterous introductory number. The cheering masses fell into a deathly quiet as the lights dimmed to a blue wash. Xingese music filled the room and the girls danced into file, goddess-like sentinels waiting for their precious Queen.

A gentleman in the front row leered forward in his seat, wet eyes gleaming. Chris nodded at one of her men: _keep an eye on this one._

There were gasps when the boy broke past the cover of the curtain, the bells on his head dress filling the room with their bright, playful sound. A few men moved their hats to perch on their crotches. Someone outright dropped their glass from their hand. It smashed, but no one bothered themselves to care, they were so fixated on the stage. It was almost cartoonish – how her odd little man could inspire such devoted devastation.

His nerves only served to augment his delicate image as his sullen, dark eyes cast weary glances at the captivated audience. Even Chris found herself quite breathless.

She settled some when Roy finally sat upon his embellished throne, struck open his fan and winked – beatifically rather than coquettishly – at the audience who howled with delight. The girls broke from their stance and started their number, spinning about the 'Rose of Xing' in shades of yellow, blue and red.

Roy slipped a bare shoulder free of the silken gown, the smallest of smiles shaping his lips. He cocked his leg just so. A white ankle flashed.

All hell broke loose.

* * *

><p>Chris could have died – seeing the lech lunge and the the pair topple backwards and off the far lip of the stage. Curtains and set pieces collapsed like a house of cards and the girls – ever the professionals – tried their best to keep the show going.<p>

The audience went wild however. Some hollered for the doormen while others took matters into their own hands, clambering onto the stage and clearing away the mess of fabric and plywood.

One of the smarter punters rushed to the pulley for the safety curtain and started raising it to reveal...

her boy...

still in drag and straddling his attacker...

beating him across the face with a pair of chicken breasts.

Chris finished her brandy in one go. The entire room faced her with open mouths.

"I imagine you'll be wanting rather more than a drink on the house, gentlemen." She turned to her doormen. "Please prevent my son from committing manslaughter with those breasts."

* * *

><p>Roy – freshly scrubbed and free from almost all womanly adornments – limped down the hallway towards his foster mother's office.<p>

He found both her and Emilia bent over the ledgers, each encased in a thick cloak of blue smoke. The ashtray was full and the bottle of twenty-year-old whiskey empty. Oh dear.

He cleared his throat.

Both women turned towards him, weary eyed but kind faced nonetheless.

"Come on in, kid," Emilia said.

He slunk towards a bench and lowered himself onto it, his bruised ribs screaming in protest. How in good god's name did his sisters wear those damnable corsets?

Chris passed him her glass of whiskey. He sniffed it and replaced it without drinking.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "For the drama."

His mother leant back with a groan and flicked her accounts book closed. "It's okay, chap. Not as bad as we thought... though our estimations _were_ quite pessimistic."

Roy shuddered and scuffed his bare feet, ten bright red toenails winking up at him. "Eugh..."

"Cheer up! Some were happy to pay for the spectacle."

"How many?"

"General Grumman."

Roy moaned dramatically and dropped his head into his hands. The women moved seats, flanking him. Two capable arms wrapped about his shoulders.

"Don't worry, Roy-boy," Emilia said, ruffling his damp hair. "This kind of thing is great for publicity. Your face will be all over the society pages tomorrow."

"That's even worse!"

"You're a talent at causing a scene. You were bound to be famous one way or another!" Emilia continued, smiling at her mistress.

Madame Christmas collected her whiskey from the table and took a draught. "She's not wrong, Roy. I'll be surprised if you don't bring the whole country down on our heads one day."

A small laugh escaped him.

"Flood the place with tears as girls weep, desperate for the attention of the famous alchemist," Emilia nudged him.

He laughed again, shaking his head.

"A gang of jealous, cuckcolded men pounding at the door."

They were all laughing now.

"Bring down the rafters!"

"Set the block alight!"

"Blow the whole place sky high!"

Roy raised his head, eyes wet from laughing so much. "Oh, come on!" His expression grew faux serious and he turned to face his mother. He adopted a movie hero baritone. "I promise you, O! Mother o' mine, that no matter what I do, I will never, ever _knowingly_ blow up your business."

Emilia pinched his cheek and stood, hands on hips. "What did I tell you about making promises you can't keep, child."

He winked. "I'll try my level best."

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><p>Thanks for reading! Drop a wee review if you have the chance – I be's interested in yer thoughts! xxx<p> 


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